Brand New Day
by o0kaymawn0o
Summary: Dream. Send me a sign? Turn back the clock, give me some time? I need to break out! Make a new name. Let's open our eyes? It's a brand new day! Dean/Sam; Slash; Underage Sam; Non-Con; you've been warned. Full summary inside.
1. Dream

_Brand New Day_

o0kaymawn0o

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><p>"<em>Dream,<em>

_Send me a sign,_

_Turn back the clock,_

_Give me some time,_

_I need to break out,_

_Make a new name, _

_Let's open our eyes,_

_It's a brand new day."_

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><p><strong>Summary: <strong>

**Dean has a dream. It's about Sam. What does it mean for the two brothers? What does it mean for him? Why does he feel this way, and how can he stop? Can he even prevent it from happening? Why would he want to do such a thing to his sixteen year old brother? He's a mess of self-loathing and confusion. Sam's his brother, and a kid, no less. He should be in prison for what he's going to do. A tale of self-hate, alcoholism and abuse, with an eventual happy ending.**

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><p><em>Notes: <em>

_This is a dark piece! This was also inspired by the song; Brand New Day, by Ryan Star. :) _

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><p><em><strong><span>Dream:<span>**_

He's sleeping in his bed, peacefully—oblivious to the world around him. He's happy. He's free. He doesn't have to think about the world, or his worries. He controls what happens in his dream.

The corners of his mouth crease. He's dreaming about a club filled with women, dressed in all sorts of lewd clothing—only for his viewing pleasure.

Nothing could touch him in his dreams. He had nothing to fear. If anything tried to enter his dreams, he'd simply put up a wall.

No one trespassed in his dreams.

They were his, and his alone.

He didn't move as the door creaked open, a shadow manifesting against the moonlit wall. It looks frightened; unsure; scared, as if it didn't want to be there, but it's being forced to. It has no choice but to stand there in the doorway, looming and staring at the dream-bound body on the bed.

A hesitant foot steps forward—skin becoming clear. It's human. That much is clear. It didn't wish to be here. That is also clear.

Nervous energy coated the atmosphere. It fails to stir the man sleeping on the bed, unaware of the presence moving closer towards him.

It stands at the side of his bed—finally finding the courage to move closer, become more intimate. A shaky hand pulls the covers off his form, exposing his naked body completely, a proud member straining against a tanned navel, almost leaking—begging for attention.

The figures tongue peaks guiltily through its lips, ashamed.

It drops the covers from its hands, suddenly self-conscious.

There is no coming back from this now. It's here. It's been brought to this spot. It has to do this if it wants to stop thinking about what it might be like to hold the man's warm penis in its hand and lead it to a healthy orgasm.

To taste the essence from his glory, savor and swallow it.

To ride it, even, for hours upon end, never stopping for a break, as it would surely only get one chance.

Would the man stay unconscious for that long? Would he be able to reveal all his fantasies in one night? Would the man hate him if he woke up? Would he continue? Would he snap and abuse him? Would he never speak to him again?

Would he. . . Abandon him?

Its eyes shifted to the awake organ throbbing, its head knocking against the heated skin of the beautiful specimen snoozing soundlessly.

It must do this.

And it does.

Tentatively, it takes a whole of the heavy girth, stroking experimentally. It elicits a satisfied noise from the owner, urging its confidence. It's doing well. The vessel likes this! He's not kicking it away! He's not lashing out! He's lying there, in a world of his own, spreading his legs slightly to give it more room; more access.

The figure goes for it, increasing the pace of its strokes—making sure not to apply too much pressure. It didn't want to hurt the handsome man. It respects and adores this man. Never would it wish pain upon him, and it would hate to see as much as a wrinkle of distress on his gorgeous face.

It smiles shyly when the man's breathing picks up, his hips involuntarily bucking into the steady grip around his member, provoking an improved rhythm between them.

Slowly, it moves, settling in between the unmindful bodies legs. It sends an apologetic smile towards closed eyes—genuinely sorry for what it's about to do.

Apologies made, it dives down, takes ahold of the base to still the blood-filled penis before taking it into its mouth.

Previously asleep eyes crack open, disappointed that his dream was over. He feels a sensation between his legs—a sensation that he enjoys and knows all too well. He grins to himself, thinking that one of the ladies in the motel must have spotted him earlier and stalked him to his room, then waited for him to fall asleep.

While that thought is a bit creepy, he's more than happy for them to work his prize-winning dick. He lifts his head and frowns. She's still clothed, whoever the hell she is.

Without saying a word, the handsome man turns on the bedside lamp, ready to see how much game he really had, when he didn't even have to chat the girl up to get her to sleep with him.

What he sees confuses him. He can only really make out the head, since she clearly decided to pull the covers over her back. He mentally shrugs, enjoying the shortness of her hair, and the slender parts of her body.

She's good, whoever she is; working her mouth on his penis just the way he likes it. He bites back a moan after a particularly loud and spectacular suck.

She has skills, he'll give her that.

Curious now to see who the girl is, he grabs her hair and lifts her head up.

"What the fuck? Sam?" he questions, jumbled.

Stunning blue eyes stare back at him.

Eyes that belong to his sixteen year old brother.

Eyes that should never see him naked.

Eyes that held so much admiration for him.

Eyes that, at the same time, scared the shit out of him.

Sam wieps the pre-cum from his bottom lip, his expression guilty. He feels dirty; ashamed; unwanted and sorry. He never wanted this to happen. He wishes he could take it all back. He loves his big brother, but he shouldn't love him like this.

"Dean, I. . . I'm so. . ." the boy stutters, forcing back the urge to finish what he started—his mouth drooling for more of his brothers still hard member.

Dean's face displays shock, and that's all. There may be some fear in the mix. He wasn't disgusted, for some reason unknown to him. He should be. He should be revolted by such a thing. They were brothers and this is wrong in every sense of the word.

He did the only thing he could think of. He smacks his brother clean across the face.

Sam falls to the floor, not even bothering to try and support himself. He knows what he did is wrong. He knows that he'll never be forgiven for what he has done. He knows that Dean will abandon him for this act of vulgarity. He knows they can never come back from this.

Gingerly, Dean pulls the covers back over himself and points to the door. "Get the fuck out of my room, Sam. I won't tell you twice," he snaps, a feeling of guilt already washing over him for snapping at his brother.

Practically lifeless, Sam adheres to the command. He picks himself up off the floor and leaves the room, a river of tears ongoing down his crushed face.

Dean sits there, naked under the covers and remaining hard. He doesn't understand why he didn't go soft the second he realized his brother had been sucking his dick. He'll never understand. He still feels horrible for slapping the younger Winchester.

What more could he have done?

Beaten the shit out of him?

Made Sam fear him for all eternity?

He'd of done of that if it were any random guy pleasuring his cock—he wouldn't stand for it. He was not a homophobe by any means, but he would probably react that way in that type of situation, without even thinking.

Maybe that made him a bad person?

Maybe it-

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><p>Dean snapped awake, a large breath leaving him. He panted listlessly, trying to get some air back in his lungs. He felt rotten and cold. What the hell was that dream about? Why was Sam in it? Why couldn't he wake up earlier?<p>

What the _fuck _was wrong with him?

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! <em>


	2. Send Me a Sign

_Brand New Day_

o0kaymawn0o

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><p>"<em>Dream,<em>

_Send me a sign,_

_Turn back the clock,_

_Give me some time,_

_I need to break out,_

_Make a new name,_

_Let's open our eyes,_

_It's a brand new day."_

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><p><strong>Chapter Summary:<strong>

**Dean can't sleep, and he gets a present from Sam-a bracelet. Is it a sign?**

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><p><em>Notes:<em>

_Short chapter ahead. Setting the mood and stuff, you understand. o_o_

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><p><strong><span><em>Send Me a Sign:<em>**

The next day, he didn't look at his brother.

The next night, he didn't sleep.

He couldn't. He was too afraid that if he shut his eyes for a moment of rest, that dream would resurface, and he would be painfully aware of the consequences.

There has to be something psychologically wrong with him to find enjoyment in thoughts such as those. Normal older brothers never strayed to indecent dreams of their younger brother. It's their duty to protect the young, not do _that _to them.

What would their father say if he knew?

What would Sam say if _he _knew?

He's a freak of nature and he deserves time in jail for his sick thoughts alone. That is how he felt about this situation: wrong; disgusting—nothing but a parasite.

His eyes betray him and close. They're blood shot. Dark circles paint the undercarriages, accentuating his lack of sleep. All he needs is a ten minute snooze, and then he will be fine.

_Sam's petal-soft lips connect with his own, binding the two brothers. _

He immediately comes back to reality. He can't risk going to sleep anymore, for he hadn't been asleep for more than a minute before his dreams turned incestuous.

What is he going to do with himself?

If he were to suddenly run away, they would get worried and come looking for him, with questions as to why he ran away in the first place.

They needed him here.

He needed to be with them.

They felt safe with each other, and could trust no one else.

That's exactly how it is in their line of work.

Hunters have a lack of trust that stems on sociopathic.

They live with it, though, as all they need is each other and the hunt.

A knock comes from the door. Dean's head turns towards it, praying to anyone that is listening that it isn't Sammy. He can't deal with seeing him right now. _He doesn't know what he might do._

"Yeah?" he replies confidently.

The door opens and a disheveled Sam walks in, clearly having just got out of the shower. Dean swallows the lump forming in his throat and beats his thoughts into submission.

_The water falling from the shower head onto Sam's naked form, dripping through the ridges under his arms, pouring down his toned chest, swimming to the bottom of his abdomen-_

"What do you want, Sam?"

Dean has to keep this brief. He has no idea how he can take control of his thoughts and feelings, and how long he can keep up a wall of calmness before it breaks.

Sam takes a few steps in to the room.

His brother wants to tell him to stay where he is, and that he'll be safer there. He feels as though he's a monster who should be kept from the public eye.

He doesn't, however. Sam walks to the foot of his bed and grins, his hands tightly gripping something behind his back.

Dean is curious. What is Sam keeping from him? And why does he look so happy all of a sudden?

"Happy twenty-first birthday, Dean!" he beams. Sam is usually nose-deep in a book, so it's nice for him to be excited for a change, and especially for him.

That may cause more bad than good right now.

A present is presented in front of him. It's in a box that Dean does not recognize. He slowly reaches for it, shuddering when their fingers make contact. He shrugs it off, prying the lid off the box.

Inside the box is what looks to be a bracelet.

It's brown, with writing on it, and it appears to be handmade with rope.

Sam calls for his attention, revealing that he too has the same bracelet around his wrist.

It isn't girly. It's actually kind of cool.

Dean puts it on immediately and tells Sam that it's great, thanking him. Sam tells him to pay close attention to the writing. He reads it, his eyes softening.

_Nothing Can Come Between Us. _

A need to hug and kiss the younger Winchester almost overwhelms him, but he manages to control himself. He touches the bracelet instead, already appreciating its existence on his wrist.

"This means that no matter what happens, we'll always be brothers!" Sam smiles enthusiastically. He thought Dean might give him a hug or something. He's gone to a lot of effort to make those bracelets.

Maybe he should just initiate it?

He does so, kneeling on the bed and reaching his arms out for Dean. The older brother reluctantly accepts the hug, which causes a bit of upset on Sam's part. He says nothing, however, mentioning that he'll make the birthday man breakfast in bed when he wakes up.

It is three in the morning. Sam stayed up preparing Dean's present. He wanted to be the first to get a smile out of the man on his big day, which he did, and for that he is truly grateful.

"I love it, Sam. Thank you."

Sam grins despite himself, releasing his brother from the hold, who seems oddly comforted by the action. He tries not to let it get to him.

Telling his brother he should get some rest, Sam moves to leave the bedroom, intent on pondering this event in his bed.

A nervous hand stops him.

Dean sighs wearily. "This means a lot, really, Sam. To be honest, I'd like nothing more than to show ya' how much I appreciate it, but I can't. You won't understand," he informs, his tone uneasy and full of regret.

As Sam exits the room, he reminds Dean to look at the writing on the bracelet once again.

He does so.

_Nothing Can Come Between Us. _

Dean closes his eyes, thinking about how happy Sam was when he gave him the present, and how sad he looked when Dean hesitated to return his hold.

Is this a sign?

Ic nothing can come between them, would Sam reject him? Does he feel the same way?

He's old enough to. He's still underage for the ideas Dean's sick mind had in store for him. The urge to throw himself out the window welled up inside his gut, his legs itching to run toward it at full force, barreling through the glass-

He calms himself with a breath, grudgingly relaxing into his bed-his head nestling on the pillow. He regards the bracelet one more time before he falls asleep, unable to help himself.

_Nothing Can Come Between Us. _

Somehow, he questions that.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! :D <em>


	3. Turn Back the Clock

_Brand New Day _

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><p><strong>Chapter Summary: <strong>

**Dean does something he regrets and turns to the bottle.**

**THIS IS NOT A SWEET CHAPTER. THAT'S THE WARNING HERE. DARK. **

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><p>"<em>Dream,<em>

_Send me a sign,_

_Turn back the clock,_

_Give me some time,_

_I need to break out,_

_Make a new name,_

_Let's open our eyes,_

_It's a brand new day."_

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><p><span><strong><em>Turn Back the Clock<em>**

Sam needs to stop what he's doing.

This isn't fair.

Why is he doing this to him? Didn't he make it clear that he can't show Sam how much he appreciates the bracelet? It was yesterday that the event happened! Why did Sam have to be oblivious half the time? How did he not realize that what he's doing is driving Dean crazy?

Sam claimed he lost the remote earlier and has been looking for it the past ten minutes. The agonizing part is that he's crawling around the couch and the bed searching for it, on his hands and knees, subconsciously wiggling his ass. Dean begs himself every second not to look—not to think those thoughts.

A beer or a glass of whisky has been constantly at his lips since he started. It only distracted him away from the sight for a very short time, however. He knows how close he is to taking advantage of his brothers position and he feels disgusting. A thousand showers could not wash away how nauseating he felt.

"Have you seen it anywhere, Dean? You know, instead of sitting there drinking yourself to death, you could help?" Sam mumbled above the pillow, reaching his arm down the couch. Why did Sam have to be this developed for his age? Dean swears the world must be out to get him or something. He's being punished for having such incriminating thoughts about his own blood. He deserved it, to a degree—it turned him on more than anything else in history, but the painful truth he could never have what he wanted tortured him every nanosecond.

"Trust me, you're better off me drinking," he replies quickly, his control dangerously close to slipping. Sam shifts to all fours after he pulls his arm from down the couch. It's only for a second, however Dean's thoughts immediately stray to what he doesn't want to think about. "Sam, get off the damn couch!" he demands, for Sam's benefit.

Dangerous is going to turn critical in less than five minutes if Sam kept this up.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything."

"Are you okay?"

A staggered breath left the older brother, the alcohol starting to jumpstart his confidence. The drinking may have backfired on him. This is not good. He needs to get out of this room or he'll-

"Dean, talk to me, please?"

Sam is standing right next to him. His hand is on Dean's shoulder, trying to engage him in conversation. Dean's eyes darken, provoking alarm bells to ring for Sam—warning and danger signs joining the obnoxious sound.

"Dean?" A sliver of fear wracks Sam's less developed frame. Dean stares deeply at him, but it's not his brothers eyes. They have no emotion in them. Dean's hand reaches out and grabs Sam's arm, shoving him into the couch. Sam cries out at the pain, falling onto the couch.

Before he can begin to move away, Dean pins him down with his knee, pressing the condensed muscles into his stomach. Sam's back attempts to arch in an attempt to relinquish the force. He doesn't succeed. Dean's soulless-looking eyes lock with Sam's lips, then move to the creamy skin of his neck.

Famished teeth find his neck, sinking into the young skin.

Sam's eyes crinkle, displaying his discomfort. Dean's knee slips between his legs, rubbing against the younger Winchester's crotch.

"Dean, no! Ah-what are you doing? Please stop!"

His cries go unheard by the influenced older brother. The unwelcome knee doesn't stop its scraping against Sam's covered privates, nor do the teeth halt their biting.

"Dad's not here. Shh, baby, it's okay," he assures, sliding the adolescents shirt up, padding his fingers along the smooth skin. He shudders, lost in the feeling of his little brother.

His fingers work to unbutton Sam's jeans, easily pulling them under his ass. Sam pleads for Dean to stop again, reminding him they're brothers.

"Don' worry, Sammy, you'll enjoy it, I promise! I'll make it so good for you!" The large percentage of alcohol the older man consumed during Sam's frantic search for the remote hit him all at once. The thoughts he focused on mixed with the influence of the alcohol. At this point, Dean has no idea what he's doing.

"Make what good? What are you going to do? P-Please? Don't do what it is you're thinking, Dean!"

"Baby, baby, calm down. It'll be amazing, I promise! The best sex ever, okay?"

The alarm bells that were there before switched to fire alarms. Sam struggled to get away from Dean, punching at his chest, trying to knock the wind out of him so he can find a moment to escape.

"There's no need for that, Sammy!" Dean insists, harshly gripping small wrists and holding them above Sam's head. He undid his belt with one hand, then tied Sam's wrists together, grinning at his handy work.

"Please don't, Dean? You're my brother!"

Tears stream down pale cheeks, unrelenting.

"I know, baby, I know! But you want this, I can tell, so just relax and enjoy it. I promised you it'll be amazing, and it will be!"

Why isn't Dean listening to him? What's he talking about? He never said he wanted this! Dean's acting like this was the plan from the beginning. Sam's terrified. Dean looks dangerous, moving off the couch to pull Sam's jeans off, briefly rubbing a spit coated digit against his hole.

Why is he doing this? Can he not see how scared Sam is? Doesn't he care? Sam just made him a bracelet yesterday and wished him a happy birthday first! He was so happy in that moment. Sam had been upset Dean hesitated to hug him, but he never could have imagined this could be the reason for that neglect!

"Gotta get ya' nice and slick for my dick, yeah?"

Sam's tears were endless. He couldn't comprehend anything that was going on. He tries to roll off the couch, but Dean keeps him there with his knee again.

"Stop struggling, Sammy! We can do role play some other time. I'm making you feel special tonight!"

His brother is completely delusional! He's thinking of this like it's some great moment for them and this has happened before!

"Dean, why are you doing this?" he begs again, pleading with Dean to untie his hands.

"No, you're being bratty, and I'm not dealing with that," he replies, pouring lubricant onto his fingers. Immediately, he forces two inside his brother, who goes red and shouts at the pain, kicking his legs out.

His heel catches Dean on the face, but he acts as if it's nothing but a fly. Sam pushes himself away from the intruding fingers. Dean yanks him back in position, digging around inside to find the spot that he's confident will change this situation. He's read enough about this stuff to have a good idea.

"Ah!" Sam cries, a twinge of pleasure in the sound.

"There it is, Sammy! See? It's all good, just relax, okay?"

He does because he's been begging for the past however long it's been for Dean to stop what he's doing.

Dean removes his fingers and unzips his jeans. He grabs Sam and flips him on his stomach, placing him on his knees in front of the couch. "Yeah, that's hot, baby! This is gonna be so good. I want to fuck you so bad!" Sam's face breaks out in pain indications, as Dean unceremoniously slides in, complimenting how easy Sam's taking his dick today.

Silent tears continue to fall, but he cries no more.

Why? What did he do to deserve this?

Dean pulls back and thrusts in, starting a frantic pace. His balls slap loudly against Sam's premium. Sam feels sick. He almost throws up on the couch in that moment, but he remembers what their father said.

What would John say? Why isn't he here? Why hasn't he gotten back from the hunt yet and saved him? Saved him from the one person that Sam thought would never hurt him intentionally. Some part of Sam's mind processed that this person isn't Dean. Dean would never in a million years do this to him.

It's still happening, though. This is not a dream. This is reality. His brother, who he worships more than anyone else in the world is raping him.

That is the reality here.

And what hurts Sam the most is that this means somewhere deep inside Dean, wherever he may be, his brother thought about this before. Perhaps not rape, but taking advantage of his younger brother.

"Ah, yeah! Sammy, you feel so good! Better than any girl or anything! I love you so much, baby boy!" he unconsciously rambles, pistoning into his brother's tight heat over and over, his eyes rolling back into his head as the tight ring slides over the head of his dick.

Dean pants behind Sam, having been pounding the younger Winchester for ten minutes now. Sam's sore. He's in terrible amounts of pain. His hole is red raw. Dean keeps pulling out completely, admiring his handiwork and thrusting back in, ignoring the look of trauma and something deeper in Sam's eyes.

He'll never recover from this.

They'll never recover from this.

Dean won't remember this.

Sam will.

Dean won't know what happened.

Sam will.

Dean will think they're okay.

Sam will know otherwise.

"Gonna come, Sammy!" he exclaims, gripping the back of Sam's long, brown hair. He pulls him back until he reaches Dean's face, whose teeth sink into Sam's neck, rocking a few more times into the adolescent, until rounds of semen spill from his dick into Sam's anal cavern.

He collapses on top of Sam, who does nothing. His face is turned to the side, focused solely on the adjoined kitchen and not Dean's sweet nothings whispered along his spine.

Each one felt like a slap to the face.

"That's my boy. You took more than last time! God, I love you so much, Sam! You're so beautiful. You're mine and I want you all to myself!"

Dean's false affection went on deaf ears.

_I used to love you, too. Not like this, but I did. _

Dean wakes up in his bed, naked and sticky, with a splitting headache. Well, his dick felt sticky and gross. The rest of him is fine. He has a quick shower and leaves his room to find Sam. He sees him in the living room, curled up on himself.

"Hey, Sammy," he greets.

The boy flinches, the hairs on his arms standing on end.

"H-hi," he replies rigidly, not looking at Dean once. The memories of last night would not leave him. Not even for a second. He felt so filthy and unnatural, even if he took no part in it—not consensually! He still felt disgusting.

Dean's head pangs, a wave of pain hitting him at once. He notices that his belt and all his clothes are scattered over the living area of the motel, much like they were in his dream where he ra-

"Sam? Did I-"

"We-we're not t-talking about this. Pl-please leave me a-alone?"

_How could I do such a thing? What kind of a fucking brother am I? I did th-that to my little brother? I hurt him so much that he can't even look at me, and he looks traumatized as shit! _

Dean leaves the living room immediately, locking his door and raiding his mini-refrigerator for alcohol. He snatches a bottle of whisky, twisting the cap off before downing five shots worth in one.

_I am fucking disgusting… I, my Sammy! How the fuck could I do that? Why? I thought I was keeping it together- I…_

His eyes water and tears of deep regret fall.

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><p><em>I've never written rape before... It was hard. And it was scary. I cried while writing it. Sorry if I didn't deliver the emotion well, though!<em>


	4. Give Me Some Time

_Brand New Day_

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><p><strong>Chapter Summary: <strong>

**John finds out. **

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><p>It's been two weeks since the rape. They've barely spent time in each other's company. Dean is at the bar most every night. Sam reads like it's going out of fashion. John cannot understand what is going on with his two boys. They fought over the dumbest things sometimes, but they've never not been able to speak to each other because of it.<p>

Sam goes pale at the mention of his brother. John wants to know why. He's asked a few times if Dean did anything that he should know about, but Sam just shakes his head and goes back to reading.

Even if he wanted to interrogate his older son, he'd have to seek him out at the bar first. He came back drunk as all hell every night, with a new girl on his arm. They were always gone before John woke up, along with the blond.

He only ever caught sight of him if he asked him along for the hunt, or they had food to eat at the motel.

Even then, the man would not say a word to him or his brother.

John is pissed. Dean's his good soldier, who follows orders and puts the job before his own personal feelings. He couldn't have him keeping secrets from him. His mission is to look after his brother, and John would make certain that he never forgets that.

"Sam, why don't you go take a step outside for a minute? I just need to talk to Dean."

Sam does as he is told immediately, without a look back.

Dean's blood goes cold when Sam leaves the room. He didn't want to be in the same room as his father. If he ended up revealing what he'd done, John would disown him forever.

John spoke gruffly.

"What's going on between you and Sammy?"

"Nothing, sir. Why would you think there was?"

"You're constantly at the bar and he hasn't said a word since two weeks ago, that's why. Don't take me for a fool, boy! I know something happened and I want to know what—now!"

John's serious. He has no time to be messing around with this. He wants answers.

"Nothing's happened. Don't worry about it," Dean replies, trying to come across as honest.

John demands that he stop when he grabs his jacket. His son offers a look the man doesn't recognize and leaves the motel, heading for the bar.

Once Dean exits, Sammy comes back in and goes back to his reading, taking a second to thank their father for the food.

Several hours later, the door to the motel slams wide open.

Dean enters, a sick grin on his face.

"Well, well, there's the little birdy. Isn't he cute?"

John's head snaps towards the voice, his eyes going wide when black orbs meet his vision. His son has been possessed by a demon! He's quick to grab the bottle of holy water in his jacket pocket.

Before he can use it, he's thrown against a wall, held there by the smirking imitation of his eldest son. "Daddy needs to stay put for a while, okay? My business is with the quavering little princess over there," the demon says, stalking over to the youngest Winchester.

"Oh, Sammy, the things I can see in this melon. So many thoughts of suicide, regret, and abandonment, all because of that stuff you call the devils juice and a whole lot of mixed signals."

He pins Sam up against the wall, holding his face roughly in his hands.

"I have to hand it to your big brother. The way you were crawling around, swaying that ass, I wouldn't have lasted more than a minute. I can, however, see what he was thinking during that time. And he acted on it eventually, just a lot differently than the fantasy itself."

Sam's eyes cloud over with fear. His hands shake around the sturdy wrists of his brother, who he once felt protected by. Now, all he feels is conflicted. The man in front of him is his brother, only with a demon renting out his being. Sam knows this sick bastard is telling the truth.

Dean had thought about him in that way.

And he did act on it.

The admittance of Dean's thoughts of suicide and abandonment upset him, but he's so scarred that all he wants is to be left alone. If that meant Dean walking away from his life—no longer a constant reminder of that event, he could live with that.

"You should hear him screaming in here. It's adorable. 'If you hurt him, I swear to God I'll rip you to pieces'. Just precious, wouldn't you agree?"

"Who are you?" John snaps.

Dean looks back at the hunter, his smirk malicious.

"You have no business knowing who I am. But you should know this," he rumbles, pleased with himself. He turns back to Sam for a moment, breathing in his scent deeply. He licks his right cheek and grins.

"Dean fucked your son!"

At the announcement, John's eyes widen. Anger began welling up in his stomach. He didn't want to believe that his son could do such a thing to his own brother. Demons didn't work this way. They could do a lot more damage than this, given the right material—physical damage. Mentally messing with someone is also their style, but this subject has never come up before. With the way his sons have been acting around each other, he'd be stupid not to think it's true.

The demon turns back to Sam once again and winks before its mouth opens and black smoke flies out of the older brother. It exits through the open door and Dean falls to the ground, releasing Sam.

Quickly, the brunet runs away from his brother, giving his father a _please don't do anything to him _look on his way out. John didn't consider letting this go for a second.

He picks himself up off the ground, having slid down the wall moments prior. He watches Dean slowly get up, coughing violently. He'll be coughing up something else when John gets through with him.

Dean stands on his own two feet, unsteadily.

He doesn't stay up for long.

A fist of rage and disappointment connects with his face, sending him hurtling to the ground. He grabs the inflicted area, pressing the tip of his finger against the broken skin.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

John delivers a brutal kick to Dean's stomach, causing the man to lurch and expel blood onto the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?"

Another kick.

"That's your brother! That's Sammy!"

John grabs Dean's jacket collar and slams his back against the wall.

"You're supposed to protect him! Not do stuff like that to him, you monster!"

Dean says nothing as John continuously presses against his bones. He hears a rib crack, but he ignores it. A dormant side to him relishes it all. He's being punished in the proper way for raping his brother. Right now, he wouldn't care if John killed him.

_He deserves it. _

A single tear falls down his face and he says sorry once more.

"You're sorry? Sorry? Sorry isn't going to cut it!" John yells and throws Dean onto the table. The weight of his back snaps it in half. He stops himself from crying out. John stands over him. "Get the fuck out of here, Dean. I don't ever want to see your face again, you understand me?" Dean nods.

He gradually pushes himself to his feet and walks on wobbly legs out of the motel. He whispers goodbye to Sammy before he leaves, closing the door shut behind him.

Dean stumbles down the walkway, a psychotic look on his face. He's been punished, but it wasn't enough.

Maybe he'll die from blood loss?


End file.
